


Freshman 15

by inkyemaline



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Personal Experience, Personal Growth, The Author Enjoys Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyemaline/pseuds/inkyemaline
Summary: 'Angry eyes lock mine through the glass, and suddenly, I am facing down the other me – the middle school girl with an eating disorder, still stumbling around in the dark.'Based on the author's personal experience with anorexia.





	Freshman 15

**Author's Note:**

> I developed an eating disorder at fourteen years old. This is a short story detailing some of the struggles I still experience, almost six years later. While numbers are mentioned, precise weights are not in order to avoid triggering others.

My first year of university was comprised of many bad days. Depending on the weather or the day of the week, I struggled with my hair; balancing friendships and romance; procrastinating papers until the night each was due; social anxiety; keeping to an exercise routine that was both detrimental to my academic progress and borderline obsessive.

On the worst of days, I struggled with all of the above. I entered college with the intention of gaining friends, gaining knowledge, gaining confidence – instead, I gained a new perspective on my own mental health, sexuality, and overall identity. Fifteen pounds quickly covered my body, while fifteen tons sat on my shoulders. Expectations coupled with fear of failure and rejection shadowed me everywhere, dragging me to the floor whenever I was alone – certain types of weight refuse all attempts to run them off, no matter the incline on your treadmill or the price of your therapist.

Midway through one of these ‘worst of days’, my sweet tooth pops out and leads me to a campus café. I was and am accepting of treating myself, but the frizz in my hair and unexpected heat coat me in a sweat that screams _you are only hot because of the weather_. I order my usual, eye the brownies in the counter display – my heart pounds louder than my growling stomach, reminding me of the sorority girls and Instagram models with tanned, toned legs, absent of the love handles only I can see – and I am walking towards class before I can change my mind, brownie in hand.

_I do not need to earn this_ , I tell myself. _One brownie will not reverse my progress; I will allow myself to want this, allow myself to enjoy this. It is okay to take care of myself on a bad day_. Halfway through the brownie, a switch flips; I am compromising, frantically arguing with myself, as though someone has pressed a panic button inside my own head. _Okay, maybe I am not taking care of myself right now, but I will run farther tonight, lift heavier weights, eat a lighter dinner – I can reverse this setback. This does not ruin my body, and it will not ruin my progress._

I stare down at the last quarter of the brownie in my hand; I feel the heaviness on my shoulders and a coil of dread twisting in my stomach. My chest begins to hurt from lack of breath, and suddenly, I need to find a mirror. The brownie lays wasted at the bottom of a trashcan, but my regret does not follow. I spend several minutes eyeing my stomach in a hallway restroom, turned sideways with shirt lifted midway, scanning the surface for obscene bloating or a sudden lack of definition.

The scene is nostalgic for me, reminding me of the days when this was the norm. Smaller restrooms with smaller mirrors, peering obsessively at a smaller me. Although I was unable to see my reflection for what it truly was, the goal was singular and clear: _lose the weight_.

My mind relays the instructions, perfectly scripted and dripping with false sweetness. The combination is hauntingly familiar, almost comforting. _You would feel better if you threw up, as though you had never eaten that brownie in the first place. You can work out as usual, still taste the chocolate, but forget about the calories and the fat. Nobody is here, and you have plenty of time to make this right-_

**No**. Angry eyes lock mine through the glass, and suddenly, I am facing down the other me – the middle school girl with an eating disorder, still stumbling around in the dark. Although this time, she is not a girl, but a woman changed with time –a body built from nourishment and power, eyes alight with new experiences, a mouth that curls upwards when she accomplishes a goal or thinks about her dreams – and she has plenty of those, so much left to live for. Two things have not changed since the last time I saw her, though: she is still scared, and she still has yet to reach her full potential.

The coil in my stomach slowly unwinds, and I wield that relief like a whip in my hand. I think about scolding myself, lashing out for the temporary weakness, but I have looked away from the mirror by then. The urge to brand myself with shame vanishes, as do all other harmful urges; for now, the other me has retreated. I return the whip to its place by my side, prepared to wield it for a better cause, and exit the restroom.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this posted on my tumblr, emalinexmd. Leave a kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed or feel the need to offer constructive criticism ~ Thanks for reading!


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